


Divide and Conquer

by Augenblickgotter, doomed_spectacles



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Swap, Brave Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), best buds or lover they still lovers each each, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augenblickgotter/pseuds/Augenblickgotter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomed_spectacles/pseuds/doomed_spectacles
Summary: Knowing they may have only hours left on earth, Aziraphale and Crowley devise a plan. They hope to Heaven and Hell it works.“When all is said and all is done,” Aziraphale said quietly. He opened his eyes to find Crowley looking at him, full of trust. “I think I might know whose face I’d like to choose.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 62
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	Divide and Conquer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the POV Pairs event: Aziraphale by doomed_spectacles, Crowley by augenblickgotter.
> 
> Thank you to @Cherubino for beta reading!
> 
> As Augenblickgotter; I cannot thank Doomed Spectacles enough for jumping last moment as my pinch hitter in helping me write this piece.

Crowley had already been seated as Aziraphale approached. The doors of the bus hissed closed and to Crowley, it felt like the noise was their pasts being closed away forever.

" _We're on our side now_ ," still hung uneasily in his head, though he was sitting in his nonchalant manner. Aziraphale came closer and Crowley knew his past was still tugging him fretfully back, but they were taking those literal steps forward. As the bus started lurching and Aziraphale neared to sit beside him, Crowley lifted up a hand. He literally pulled his friend into his circle as the world moved past the windows. Aziraphale was clearly worried (no surprise), but an airy sense of relief flitted over his eyes with the touch. Crowley didn't speak but didn't let go. They rode in silence for several minutes until Crowley turned to Aziraphale. The Angel was mutely staring ahead with his eyes, while his mind was in another place.

"Y'alright?" Crowley ventured, knowing the answer already.

* * *

Crowley was sprawled across the hard plastic bus seat like a bucket of paint dropped from the ceiling, but Aziraphale could see the tension hiding in his posture. Millennia of watching him slouch and saunter and spread himself on furniture meant Aziraphale could tell by the angle of his limbs precisely how scared Crowley was at any given moment. He stepped over one of Crowley’s stylish black boots as he approached, casually jutting into the aisle. Crowley was terrified. He reached out a hand anyway.

Aziraphale took it.

The steady rocking motion of the bus and the solid feeling of Crowley’s hand kept him tethered. His thoughts drifted in so many directions as the lights outside the bus came and went but they never went too far before he was pulled back by the simple touch of Crowley’s hand. 

Agnes’s words came back to him, as did Crowley’s, even Adam’s. What had happened that day felt so large he couldn’t see all of it clearly. It was like standing on the edge of an ocean, knowing there was another side to it but not being able to see past where the sky took over.

Crowley’s voice brought him out of his reverie.

“Y’alright?” His voice was soft, hesitant, and unsure. It was the gentlest of not-quite-words, spoken in a tone that hinted at his seemingly endless supply of patience. It was the voice he’d used earlier to soften the blow. You don’t have a side anymore.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley. He didn’t smile. His eyes were watery, full of emotions he wouldn’t be able to name even if he tried. There were too many.

“Right, yeah,” Crowley said, “me too.”

* * *

Crowley pushed aside the looming dread to focus on Aziraphale. 

_We’re both scared, Angel._ He wanted to shout, but could only think. _But it’s us together now, not alone or swimming around each other wanting to ask the other for help._

Crowley inhaled and desperately held on to his nonchalant facade, but he still hasn't let go of Aziraphale’s hand. He glanced over, unable to miss how every furrow was lined with worry and fear on his face. He swallowed, his eyes were so bleary. 

_Please don’t start to cry because I have no idea how I’d keep myself together if you do._

He pulled the hand a little closer and forced a grin. “Be there soon,” he plainly said, though of course, Aziraphale would know that.

“Then we can…” he trailed off. _Hide? Recoup? Run to Alpha Centauri?_

He noticed Aziraphale hanging on his next word.

“...We can make our move.”

* * *

_Our move._

Two little words, but they rang in Aziraphale’s ears. He still held Crowley’s hand. Their fingers were twined together like vines searching for light. Together. He’d sat next to Crowley on the double seat instead of insisting on the separation they were accustomed to. The lights from the city flashed irregularly on Crowley’s face, reflecting in his glasses. He only caught glimpses of Crowley’s expression, but he saw resolve and a tired certainty in the set of his jaw and the little grin he put on as he pulled Aziraphale’s hand closer. 

_We’re on our own side._

Aziraphale nodded. He still didn’t smile, but now that he was inhabiting his own weary body and wearing his own familiar face, he trusted Crowley to know the lines of it as well as he knew Crowley’s.

“Our move,” he repeated. “Whatever that may be.”

* * *

“Right,” Crowley automatically responded trying to sound detached. But he was anything but that at the moment. Even when he turned his head to pretend to stare at the lights outside in the darkness that zipped by, he felt the glow inside.

_Like fire._

Suddenly that warmth was squelched at that very word.

 _Fire. ‘Playing with fyre’? Oh Satan._ He shifted in his seat.

 _Alright, Agnes_ , he angrily comforted in his mind, _It seems everything you said comes true, and I’m betting you have that kooky mix of helpful and obvious and a riddle wrapped in clever literal wordplay. Fire? Was that supposed to mean… the world going down in flames? No, it was when all was done or something. Well, I s'pose that part IS done. ‘For soon enough…’_

Crowley shifted again and clutched Aziraphale harder.

_Soon enough.’ We can’t dawdle. This is so bad and I don’t want to panic him. Oh, he probably knows. He would have read the damn book several times. Maybe I can poke up something else._

“Hey,” he suddenly blurted as the words bubbled forth from his mind.

“Yes?” Aziraphale responded eagerly. 

_Okay, try and sound casual, don’t spook him. He’ll worry and overthink it…._

“Did, uhm, Anges’ book mention anything specific about… oh, persecution? Punishment? Trial by fire perhaps? Judgment before the Eye of God maybe?”

* * *

“I don’t recall anything like that, no,” Aziraphale said. “Then again, I’d been focused on finding the Antichrist. I didn’t read ahead, as it were.”

“Right. _Spoilers_.” Crowley’s voice was deadpan. He swallowed and Aziraphale watched the little bob of the demon’s throat. He was so close. After so many years spent at arm’s length, he was finally close.

“I-” Aziraphale stopped, unsure what he’d been about to say. Crowley held his hand and waited. He was overwhelmed, suddenly, at the patience of the demon at his left side. Always on his left. Always waiting. Crowley had waited until the end of the world for him, and then some.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. He felt the bony, fragile fingers grip his even tighter. As the bus’s motions rocked them gently, he felt anchored by the grip of that hand. _We’re on our own side._

Silence settled around them. It wasn’t fraught or heavy, but still. Aziraphale waited for their journey home to end, for then they’d face what was to come next. He closed his eyes and smiled. He breathed in the scent of Crowley. It was a familiar scent of spice and wit and crackling energy. On top of it, burning leather and grief. And on top of that, the pungent aroma of the number six bus, formerly bound to Oxford.

“When all is said and all is done,” Aziraphale said quietly. He opened his eyes to find Crowley looking at him, full of trust. “I think I might know whose face I’d like to choose.”

Crowley’s mouth opened but before he could say anything, the brakes of the bus hissed, breaking into their thoughts.

* * *

He clamped it shut suddenly, not wanting to look like a fish gasping on land. 

There was a mild snap in his features as he resumed his everyday mask of suspicion, knowing they would be outside again and back in view of whoever may or not be watching.

He nodded his head towards the door as he stood.“C’mon, Angel.”

He rose but still hadn’t released his grip as he moved out. They stepped through the sparsely occupied bus to the doors. The cooling air of the night hushed around them, foreboding and mysterious. The bus hissed a farewell, pulling away. The cloud of exhaust and dust rumbled along with the lights, leaving the two forms under a lamp-post.

Alone, hand in hand.

Crowley glanced around but sensed nothing and tugged Aziraphale along. 

“Not far, just up this street,” he muttered as he began walking.

Aziraphale looked like a child being pulled by a parent, not because he didn’t want to follow, but because Crowley’s long strides covered the ground faster than he could keep pace. He was about to open his mouth to object when Crowley changed his course and moved hard up some small stairs to his door front. 

The demon coldly glanced around again and snapped the ominous-looking door open. Then the hand finally released, gesturing inward. 

“Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” he intoned. 

Aziraphale scoffed but barely could refrain from smirking.

“Angels first,” Crowley added.

Aziraphale stepped into a short hallway to only find another door. Crowley snapped the next one open and snapped again for a wall lamp to come on. Aziraphale stepped into another hallway with coat and hat racks on the wall and a slim table that Crowley set his glasses on.

With his hands behind his back, he looked around while Crowley snapped yet again to shut the door behind them. 

Though it was dark the whole expansive space felt immaculate. Like a night sky dotted with stars.

Aziraphale speculated on Crowley’s level of cleanliness and didn’t want to accidentally make a bad impression.

“Crowley, am I to remove my shoes here before I go any further?”

Aziraphale was turning, only to be pressed against a wall in a crushing embrace. Crowley buried his head against his neck. 

* * *

Crowley pressed him against the wall. He put a hand behind Aziraphale’s head before it could hit the hard concrete behind him. Aziraphale felt the coolness of the surface at his back and surrounding him the warmth of his… his… Crowley was so many things, he felt that any single word couldn’t possibly encompass all that he was. All that they were. He slowly brought his own arms around the demon, returning his fierce embrace.

“My dear,” he said into Crowley’s neck. He felt Crowley take a deep, shuddering breath. They stayed together, pressed into the wall barely three feet into Crowley’s living space. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into Crowley’s embrace. He’d made his choice, then. His side had become our side. He didn’t feel nearly so alone, now.

“Sorry, just, _mnyeh_ ,” Crowley said, stepping back. He sniffed, trying even now to remain cool.

Aziraphale smiled, feeling the fondness bloom in his heart and for the first time, letting it grow unchecked. Crowley ducked his head, but couldn’t hide the answering smile he wore on his own face.

“Let’s, uh,” Crowley said, stepping into the main room, “have a drink?”

“Yes, please.” Aziraphale stood at the massive windows overlooking the city. Below him, an expanse of neon lights and blissfully unaware humans going about their nighttime business. He couldn’t hear the city from this far up, but his imagination supplied the honking horns, yelling drivers, chatting pedestrians, and blaring music he’d grown accustomed to as his adopted home city had grown into a thriving metropolis around him.

Crowley returned with a bottle of Scotch and two glasses. He passed one wordlessly to Aziraphale, filled it, then clinked their glasses together.

“To Adam,” Aziraphale said, taking a drink. “For not listening to either of us and in the process becoming better than both.”

Crowley nodded and took a sip of his own. “Cheers.” He stood with Aziraphale at the window, looking out at the night sky.

He raised his glass again. “To Agnes Nutter. May she save our skins by saying one last sooth.”

* * *

“Mmm,” Aziraphale agreed loudly as he took his first sip. He sighed past the burn of the drink. “Yes, especially that.”

There was a terrible pause as they both drank again, waiting for the other to leap out with an obvious answer.

“Well,” Crowley offered, taking a pace around the room with his glass. “ ‘Playing with fyre’... Obviously, Hell is going to come down on us first and foremost, I imagine.”

Aziraphale raised his brows and shook his head. “Heaven as well, I’m sure.”

Crowley twitched and tried to shrug it off. “Oh, yeah, at some point but…”

“Crowley, it’ll be both. “ Aziraphale was firm as he’d even been in the six thousand years that Crowley knew him. “They are both furious and both want blood. Believe me.” He sipped from his glass. “I’ve seen it.”

Crowley rocked and looked around .“Mmm, yeah. M’kay. So, let’s pretend it IS both. No wait, let’s just know it’s both, it’s playing with fire. So, ‘choose your faces wisely?’ She’s saying we must choose how we handle it.”

He moved to Aziraphale and held up the bottle to offer another shot.

“Yanno, how we present ourselves. So…” He poured into Aziraphale’s glass and then refilled his own. “... I dunno. Tell them to bugger off. We aren’t taking it anymore. We’re not scared of ‘em? I’ll stand behind you and say ‘Leave this Angel alone or you’ll be sorry’ and you can stand behind me and say ‘Damn straight! Begone or we’ll smite you, lot!’ ”

* * *

  
Aziraphale smiled. Crowley paced the room, sloshing his drink as he waved his arms about. His voice went from terrified to bitter to angry, then back to terrified. He settled on a tone that was full of bravado with an anxious undercurrent. Aziraphale chuckled at the thought of standing before Gabriel and saying “damn straight.”

“I’m certain you would make quite the frightening spectacle, my dear,” he said. “However, I’m not certain that putting on a brave face is quite what she meant.”

“Right, _myeh_ ,” Crowley said. His shoulders slumped in defeat.

“But, I do have an idea.” Aziraphale put his glass down on Crowley’s marble slab of a desk. He took a moment to admire its craftsmanship, then stood next to Crowley at the window. He placed an arm on Crowley’s shoulder, hesitantly at first, then with surety as Crowley’s face cracked into a smile. “You recall the phrase ‘divide and conquer’?”

Crowley nodded. “You’re saying they’ll take us separately.” He set his drink aside on a small table that miraculously appeared right where he needed it. “I can’t help you if they use hellfire, angel. Even if I shield you, I’m not sure I-”

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “But you won’t have to, if I’m right.” He took Crowley’s hand in his own. “I choose _your_ face, Crowley.” He tried to put thousands of years of love into the words, hoping Crowley would see in his face that he truly meant what he said.

“Angel-”

“Crowley, you need to possess me.”

* * *

The gears in Crowley’s mind seized before resuming their mad spinning.

“Whha--aaat?”

“I need you,” Aziraphale said with eye-popping emphasis, “to inhabit my corporation with your being, to render me safe from what will be my likely end.”

Crowley still wasn’t grasping the plan, but anchored himself with it when Aziraphale had an idea. Whatever it may be.

“Mmm, m’kaaaay,” he swallowed. “And what about… my… corporation?”

“I shall possess it in return. I think I’ve mastered that trick.” Aziraphale looked too gleeful in his newfound talent like he couldn’t wait to do it again.

“Uhh, Angel,” Crowley probed as he raised a hand to touch the one on his shoulder.

“I… I’m not so sure. And… besides… I’ve Fallen. I’ve been through Hell. Literally. It might hurt, but I don’t know about…” He was turning to face the rest of the room for an answer when his eyes snapped to something on the floor. A mere dirty heap of burnt clothes near the door that had been Ligur.

“Holy water,” whispered Crowley, going cold. “That is it, isn't it? I’m going out like that?”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s expression and then followed his eyes.

“Someone you knew?”

“Used to be Ligur,” Crowley breathed. “Until… I ended his life with a small amount of Holy Water. Hastur saw the whole thing. The screams of pain...”

Aziraphale regarded the side of his face with a cold pride as he snapped his free hand, vanishing the small pool of water and remains.

“The precaution? The safety you asked for?”

Crowley could only nod, trying to stay calm but reaching a full feeling of defeat at what his fate would likely be.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “Glad you gave it to me now, Angel?”

* * *

“Yes,” Aziraphale said simply. “I am. I’m relieved. I trusted you to do what’s best and you did.”

He stepped forward, taking Crowley’s hand in his. Crowley was still staring at the spot on the floor, now clean. There was no trace of Ligur’s remains left. Aziraphale squeezed his hand.

“Crowley, we have to try. If I’m, well, _inside_ you, I-” He faltered, but it wasn’t uncertainty he felt. It was a growing sense of excitement. He tamped it down, then felt a very unfamiliar feeling indeed. Aziraphale had the sense that, once all was said and done, the world would be a new place for him. And Crowley. Together. That was what Agnes Nutter was telling them.

Aziraphale smiled.

“If I’m you and you are me, then fire and water are simply-” he waved his free hand in the air, “-elements. Holy water will no more harm me than hellfire will affect you.” 

He squeezed Crowley’s hand, pressing reassurance into it. Crowley had been the brave one for so long. He’d swaggered through centuries of human history with a crooked smile and a silly walk. Now it was Aziraphale’s turn. He’d show Crowley how to face down Heaven and in turn, he’d descend to the depths of Hell. A thrill of excitement ran through him at the thought, one he thought should inspire a wave of guilt but didn’t.

“I’ll be you, my dear.” Aziraphale giggled at the thought. “It’ll be my greatest performance yet.” 

Crowley stared at him with apprehension but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his own lips. He retrieved his drink with the hand not holding Aziraphale’s and knocked back the rest of it.

“All right, angel,” he said, “show me how it’s done.”

“Well, it’s a bit different from before since we both currently have bodies, but I’m sure we’ll manage. It was a bit like flying.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “On the count of three, focus on my hand and, _leave_.”

“Leave?”

“Yes, leave.” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Your body. Leave it to me.” His cheeks warmed and he glanced up at Crowley, remembering the very same phrase being whispered in his ear- Tracy’s ear- just hours before. It felt like ages ago.

To his relief, Crowley grinned. “I’m in your hands, angel.”

“And everything else.”

* * *

Of course Crowley knew how to possess bodies. He was a Demon after all. Not hard in the least once you mastered the moves. It could even be hilarious. Honestly, it was more like grabbing the wheel on a vehicle with really wonky steering. Swapping totally, that was different. He knew it wasn’t most likely wasn’t impossible, sure. But what if it didn’t work? What if his soul touched the Angel’s body and incinerated? What if…

Crowley shook his mind and prepped like he was about to Fall again.

“Angel, “ he whispered, looking deep into the blue eyes, “If this fails and we just blow up, well…” He swallowed hard. “It was on our terms.”

“And we’re together,” Aziraphale said softly. “Meaning Heaven and Hell failed.”

“He always makes it better. Let’s do it.”

Crowley inhaled and held out his hand.

“One.”

Aziraphale held out his, never breaking eye contact.

“Two.”

Their hands slapped together and gripped tight. Crowley couldn’t stop himself from pulling Aziraphale closer and pressing his face down into his shoulder.

“ _THREE_!” they both cried out.

Crowley did focus as he was told, but he felt the most bizarre sensation of Aziraphale passing him by like another current in a stream. He almost wanted to stop to take it in full, see what it looked like but kept his eyes closed and worked at the task at the very literal hand. 

Then it was quiet as he leaned back and opened his eyes. A giddy jolt hit his chest upon seeing the other side of the room from where he had been facing. He almost stopped breathing when his own serpentine eyes stared back.   
He was looking _up_ at his own face, after so many years looking down at Aziraphale. 

“Aziraphale? Did it…”

He jerked backwards while covering his mouth in pure reaction to the voice filling his lips.

_It sounds bloody deeper in my head now! SATAN! Even my inner voice sounds like his!_

A mad chuckle began up his throat, and he doubled over with shrill giggles. It was a totally alien sensation yet so eerily familiar.

He tittered in his newfound tone as he flexed his shorter fingers.

“Angel! You mad bastard! It worked!!”

* * *

Aziraphale felt a giggle rising from his throat. But it wasn’t his own throat at all. When the bubble of laughter escaped, it came out more like a squawk than as anything remotely resembling his own voice.

“I- oh,” he said, putting a hand to his throat only to discover once more that it wasn’t his. He felt Crowley’s Adam's apple bounce as he swallowed, then made the mistake of glancing down at his hands, which were Crowley’s.

“This is- oh.” Aziraphale flexed Crowley’s long fingers, watching them move, fascinated. He put his hands up to his -- Crowley’s -- face, feeling the unfamiliar skin and bones. He ran a finger lightly over the tattoo on his -- Crowley’s -- face, feeling a shiver when he moved his fingers over the swirling shape of the snake. “I’m- it really worked!”

Crowley was smiling at him from behind his own face. Imagine that! He could see Crowley’s expression looking out from blue eyes instead of beautiful forbidden yellow ones. The quirk of his lips was all Crowley. Even the way his spine curved and his feet splayed was instantly recognizable to Aziraphale, who’d spent six thousand years trying not to get caught looking.

“Choose your faces wisely. Cheers to Agnes Nutter!” Crowley shouted, then immediately winced as it came out in Aziraphale’s usually-prim voice. “Yeah, okay, that’s odd.” He worked his jaw in a movement that wouldn’t look out of place on Crowley’s long face but that caused Aziraphale to wince seeing it on his own.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. He realized when they’d let go of each other, he’d clasped his hands in front of his body out of habit. It was a gesture that had calmed him for as long as he’d been in his own body, but it didn’t fit Crowley at all. Crowley was all fluid movements and swinging hips, where he was straight angles and square shoulders. 

“If we’re to succeed, my dear, we’ll need to rehearse.” Aziraphale looked around the sparsely furnished room. The desk and a ridiculous throne chair were the only items in the way of a little practice walking. “We won’t even make it to trial if our respective associates suspect _something is up_ , as they say.”

He took a few experimental strides, trying to swing his hips in the seductive way he’d seen Crowley do too many times to count. Aziraphale stumbled, almost falling on Crowley’s face.

“Woah there,” Crowley said. He reached out a hand to steady Aziraphale, wearing a worried expression that looked far too appropriate on Aziraphale’s features. “Careful with those, they’re aftermarket limbs. Original package didn’t come with legs, remember?”

“Quite.” Aziraphale tried again, this time adding a swish of his arms as he walked. Next to him, Crowley wheezed. “What?”

“That’s not how I look at all! You’re not on a catwalk, angel. I don’t think you’ll get the chance to waltz on your way down to Hell.”

Aziraphale pouted. “It _is_ how you walk, my dear. I know! I’ve watched you for thousands of years.” Crowley’s mouth, wearing Aziraphale’s face, opened then closed a few times. Aziraphale felt a flush heating his cheeks. He looked away, then changed his mind. This was a performance he’d been preparing for since the world began. “What I mean is, I know you better than you think.”

“Yeah I suppose you do,” Crowley said, with a small smile.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses appeared in his hands. He met Crowley’s eyes briefly before putting them on. These were an essential piece of his costume. He couldn’t be Crowley if he didn’t put up this barrier between him and the world. Whether Crowley thought he was protecting the world from his demonic self or protecting himself from a cold, unforgiving world, Aziraphale didn’t know. He’d always suspected the latter, but would never say it.

“There,” he said, shaking his shoulders a few times to work out the kinks. He put his hand on his hip and arranged Crowley’s limbs in a casual slouch. He threw back his head and said in a low growl, “I’m ready.”

Crowley whistled. “Not bad, angel, not bad.” He circled around Aziraphale, trying to prowl but finding it difficult with Aziraphale’s shorter legs and clunkier shoes.

“Your turn, Crowley. Show me what you’ve got.”

* * *

Crowley smirked to himself, feeling the corners of his eyes scrunch closer than he expected. _This should be a piece of cake._

With a rigid motion, he snapped upright, putting his hands behind his back and took several robotic steps forward, nearly gliding with his precision. He scanned around, catching his own face looking on worried.

“What? Angel, don’t I look like a formal dandy out on a stroll?”

Aziraphale sighed, holding a knuckle to his lips, clearly mining around for a polite way to reply.

“I just… I don’t walk like that Crowley.”

“You do! I see! Don’t think I haven’t keenly watched your every movement…”

“ _That_ ,” Aziraphale said, “is part of the problem; you are acting too much like yourself looking about like a sentinel. I look about when I walk, but not like a searchlight as you do. And your steps are… so… soldier like. May I say… stiff? No joy behind them.”

_Joy?! He gets joy from walking?!_

Crowley frowned and eased his steps. Aziraphale gave a small nod.

“That’s better, dear.”

“Better is not good enough,” Crowley declared, overly fussing with his bowtie, “It has to be perfect.”

“You could try smiling,” Aziraphale offered with a hint of sarcasm. 

_Oh right, he is always smiling at humans and things he likes._

Crowley whipped up the dandiest grin he could. Aziraphale removed the sunglasses with a wince.

“Too much, dear, be more sincere.”

Crowley toned it back, pacing in another loop around the room. He kept his face turned to Aziraphale the whole time, watching for his reaction. Aziraphale sighed again and toyed with one of the arms on the glasses.

“You look inauthentic. Mechanical. Even threatening.”

The frustration at failing to do something that seemed so natural was bubbling to a head for Crowley. “Well, you look like this, Angel!” he retorted. “So maybe you look-”

Crowley checked his words before he made a fool of himself, exhaling shakily. “Angel, I have to ace this sodding act or we’ll be motes of forgotten memories.”

Aziraphale stepped up and Crowley felt queasy staring up at his own face for reassurance. “Well, Crowley, listen, we don’t have much time to rehearse and frankly here’s my advice; If Heaven came for me, just think of what I would do. Don’t overreact to anything they ask, just… be angry but don’t let it escape. Let it… be your wall. Gabriel has been nothing but domineering to me…”

Crowley, with Aziraphale’s own eyes, looked up, pressing his lips together and flaring his nostrils slightly.

Aziraphale nodded back but continued.

“... and no doubt will have reached the end of his rope by now. Don’t goad him. But play off that. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, “ Crowley growled. “Bait him and then turn it on him.”

Aziraphale nodded with ease.

“Right! He might be so angry he’ll be blind to the little details. Don’t worry about me…”

“Do you even hear the irony of that statement, Angel?”

Aziraphale scoffed in amusement.

“Coming from my own mouth to your own ears? Yes, the irony abounds.”

Both cracked with laughter which doubled as they felt the mirthful noises vibrating up their swapped throats. They leaned against each other for a moment, catching their breath.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chuckled, “Just do what you always do. Don’t be afraid. You know we can do this.”

“Ha!” Crowley smirked, pulling back, “I can act some, obviously. I’m _always_ afraid, Angel, I just don’t show it. Now, how about one more toast?”

* * *

Aziraphale snapped his fingers. On the marble desk’s sleek surface, a bottle of very expensive wine appeared, uncorked. If a human had opened this vintage in this bottle, it would have needed an hour, undisturbed, to breathe. For Aziraphale, it would be fresh as soon as it was poured.

“A toast, then,” he said, pouring two glasses carefully. Aziraphale held one out to Crowley and kept the other. “To-” he paused.

Crowley looked back at him through hesitant blue eyes. Soon, he’d be facing an uncertain trial in Heaven. He was putting on a brave face, but Aziraphale could see the fear under the surface. He wished he could spare Crowley this. He wished he could endure both trials himself so Crowley wouldn’t need to face the Heaven that had rejected him and that he’d rejected in turn.

He steadied himself. He was Crowley. For now, he was the brave one. He would saunter to Hell and show them what for. He’d do it for Crowley and for their future. That was it. That was the toast.

“To our side,” Aziraphale said, bringing his glass up.

Crowley clinked his glass to Aziraphale’s, unable to speak. Wearing Aziraphale’s expressive face gave away the emotions Crowley felt. He was unable to hide behind sunglasses or wipe the worry from his face while squirreled away in an unfamiliar corporation.

They drank, each not looking away from the other.

When their glasses were empty, both yellow eyes and blue ones were full of unshed tears and unsaid promises.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “So, tomorrow, my dear, we’ll-”

“Yeah, um,” Crowley said, making not-quite-words that sounded strange, low in Aziraphale’s throat. “We should, uh, meet somewhere. Assuming we survive.”

“We will. Crowley, we will,” Aziraphale said, sure. “Berkeley Square. I’ll be there. When I’m through, that is.” He raised his eyebrows, dropping the veneer of stoicism for the last time.

Crowley nodded. “Berkeley Square. The bench.”

“The bench.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, looking back at him through his own eyes. No matter what he endured tomorrow, no matter what trials Hell put him through, it was worthwhile. If the slightest possibility remained that he and Crowley had a future, together, he could be strong. He could be brave. He could be Crowley.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “if we don’t-”

“We will.” Aziraphale set aside his glass. They’d spent their last night in a dark room together, drinking. Aziraphale smiled. He could hardly think of a better way to spend his last night on earth. On the other side of the window, London slept. The dawn hadn’t yet broken but whispers of light were creeping out of the night. He grasped Crowley’s hands in his. Crowley’s hands, his hands, twined together. Where he ended and Crowley began was unclear. 

He met Crowley’s eyes and said, with a quiet certainty, “We’re on our own side.”


End file.
